Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma
Chapter 69: Poison in silk

Chapter 69: Poison in silk

The corridor was dim, its torches flickering low as Elise made her way toward the servant’s quarters. Her steps were uncertain, echoing faintly against the stone walls of Lucien’s estate. The quiet was unnerving but she remembered Beatrice’s instructions.

"Flushed cheeks. Alone. Leaving the prince’s room."

A simple whisper. No need to prove anything.

She found Mira, one of the kitchen maids, leaning against a barrel, sipping tea from a cracked cup.

"Mira," Elise began, voice hushed but urgent, "you won’t believe what I saw earlier."

The kitchen maid perked up instantly Mira was known to carry tales as if they were fresh loaves. "What is it?"

"I saw Lady Liora leaving Prince Lucien’s room. She was...blushing. Her lips were swollen. I’m not saying anything but....."

"But you are," Mira said with wide eyes. "Gods, that’s juicy. I thought the prince hated women."

"Maybe not all women," Elise said, forcing a giggle that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Don’t tell anyone I said it, alright?"

"Of course, of course," Mira waved her off, already mentally listing who she’d tell first.

As Elise walked away, guilt twisted in her stomach. But she remembered Beatrice’s promise.

Permanent maid. Better position. Warmer bed.

Inside her room, Beatrice reclined against her pillows, lazily flipping through a worn book of estate records...not for reading, but simply as a prop.

A soft knock on her door.

"Elise?" she asked without rising.

"Yes, my lady."

"Did you do as I asked?"

"Yes. I told Mira."

Beatrice chuckled darkly. "Perfect. The entire house will know by dusk."

Elise hesitated. "My lady... what if this causes problems with Lord Lucien? He doesn’t seem like someone to forgive lightly."

Beatrice’s expression sharpened. "He won’t. That’s the point."

She stood and moved to her vanity, dabbing perfume behind her ears. "A man like him thrives on control. Let’s see how he handles chaos in his own house. I doubt he even cares about the girl. But now? He’ll be forced to pick a side."

"And if he picks hers?" Elise asked.

Beatrice’s smile didn’t waver. "Then I’ll know exactly how dangerous she really is."

Elsewhere in the estate, Liora stood by the window of her room, listening to the faint sounds outside. It was subtle, but she could sense it: the air had shifted.

Servants passed her without greetings. A few glanced her way, then looked away quickly.

Her brows furrowed. She opened her door, stepping out, only to see two housemaids freeze mid-conversation. One of them hurriedly left, while the other bowed awkwardly.

"Is something the matter?" Liora asked, her tone polite.

The girl stammered, "No, my lady. Just chores."

Liora didn’t believe her. She turned slowly and walked back into her room, locking the door behind her.

She pressed a hand to her chest. A small knot was forming there.

She didn’t know what Beatrice had done yet, but she could feel it creeping through the walls, curling like smoke.

And Lucien... what would he think when he heard it?

The tension in Lucien’s estate, once a silent and cold stillness, had shifted into something alive—whispering, watching, waiting.

Lucien stood near the study’s large window, arms crossed behind him, staring into the empty garden. His mind was on the list Rowan had handed him just earlier—a report of supplies, security, and servant rotations.

But even that was no longer what caught his interest.

He heard it.

A pause in the hallway outside. Voices dropping into whispers. A servant bowing too fast, stammering too much. Eyes flitting toward him, then away.

It wasn’t just one incident. It was a pattern—and Lucien never ignored patterns.

Rowan entered with his usual curt knock. "My lord."

Lucien didn’t turn. "Speak."

Rowan hesitated. "I believe a rumor has begun to circulate."

"About?" Lucien asked, voice cold and clipped.

"Lady Liora."

Lucien turned now, sharply. "What sort of rumor?"

Rowan clenched his jaw. "That she... left your room this morning. Blushing. Alone. After an extended stay."

Lucien’s eyes narrowed, his posture straightening.

"And who exactly is spreading this nonsense?" he asked, though his voice remained eerily calm.

"I traced it back through two maids. Both mentioned a third—Elise. Beatrice’s personal maid."

Lucien’s silence stretched long. Too long.

Rowan shifted his weight. "Shall I confront her?"

"No," Lucien finally said, walking slowly toward his desk. "That will do nothing but raise the fire higher."

He picked up the estate’s seal, turned it over in his hand, and then set it down with a quiet thud.

"Beatrice," he murmured, "wants to stir things she cannot control."

Rowan looked unsure. "Do you suspect she’s trying to damage Lady Liora’s reputation?"

Lucien looked up, his expression unreadable.

"She’s trying to corner me."

Down the hall, Liora’s feet moved quickly beneath her heavy skirts as she made her way toward the guest wing. She had waited long enough. If the servants refused to speak to her, she would confront the source herself.

She didn’t bother knocking when she reached Beatrice’s door—just pushed it open and stepped inside.

Beatrice was seated near the hearth, sipping tea as though nothing could touch her.

"Well," Beatrice said sweetly, "someone’s lost her manners."

Liora shut the door behind her. "What did you do?"

Beatrice smiled lazily. "That’s very vague, Liora. Care to be specific?"

"I know something’s being said," Liora snapped. "The servants won’t look me in the eye. And you? You’re the only one who gains anything from it."

Beatrice set her cup down, rising slowly to her feet. "You seem awfully emotional for someone with nothing to hide."

Liora blinked, almost stunned by the audacity. "You know this could backfire. Lucien isn’t someone you play games with."

"Sweet Liora," Beatrice said softly, "you still don’t understand, do you?"

She took a step closer.

"This isn’t about whether it backfires. It’s about whether he lets it. And trust me—once a man like him is forced to defend you in front of others, he’ll begin to wonder why he ever did."

Liora’s fingers clenched at her sides.

"You’re not afraid of me," she said quietly, "because you think he won’t protect me. But let me ask you something, Beatrice what if you’re wrong?"

Beatrice’s smile faltered only for a fraction of a second.

Enough.

Liora turned and left, her pulse pounding in her ears. She didn’t have the power to fight back with influence, not yet.

But she had truth.

And that was the one thing Beatrice had no use for.

The silence in Lucien’s study had settled into something heavier than usual. Only the slow crackle of the fireplace dared to interrupt. He stood with one hand resting on the edge of his desk, the other holding an unopened scroll sealed in violet wax—distinctly from the capital.

It had arrived earlier that day with no name, but Lucien knew the seal. He hadn’t opened it yet.

Instead, his mind remained on the latest chain of whispers. The sudden murmurs about Liora, about him. Even within his estate, where outsiders were not allowed, the rumors had taken root like poison ivy on stone.

And at the center of it all—Beatrice.

He had once dismissed her as harmless. Petty, yes. Ambitious, perhaps. But harmless.

He now suspected otherwise.

The door opened quietly.

Liora stepped in, a worn look in her eyes.

"She came to me again," she said, her voice calm but cold. "This time with words carefully chosen."

Lucien didn’t look at her. "What did she say?"

"She said the estate doesn’t protect the unworthy," Liora replied. "And that soon, everyone would know who I truly am."

Lucien’s jaw clenched. He finally looked at her. "She’s getting bolder."

"She’s not acting alone," Liora said sharply. "Beatrice isn’t clever enough to plant doubts this way. It’s too controlled. Too quiet."

Lucien didn’t respond.

"She’s acting under someone’s order," Liora continued. "And I think you know who."

His gaze flicked to the scroll on the desk.

Liora followed his eyes. "Lilian."

A beat passed.

Lucien picked up the scroll and broke the seal without another word.

He scanned it once. Twice. Then crushed it in his hand.

"She says nothing directly," he muttered. "Just...advises me to handle my affairs before they ’bring shame to the bloodline.’"

Liora’s lips thinned. "So she set Beatrice loose on your estate."

"She’s watching me," Lucien murmured. "Still testing if I’m tame after everything she helped orchestrate."

He dropped the crushed letter onto the desk. "She wants to force my hand."

Liora stepped closer, her tone cautious. "Then what will you do?"

Lucien looked at her fully now. "Play the game."

"But on your terms?" she asked.

A slow, bitter smile spread across his lips. "Always."

The court was quieter than usual. A stillness clung to the royal palace like a storm waiting for thunder. Servants stepped softer, ministers spoke in measured tones, and no one dared mention Prince Lucien’s name unless whispered behind closed doors.

In the Queen Dowager’s inner chambers, however, there was no such restraint.

"Is she still at the estate?" Lilian asked without looking up from her embroidery frame, the golden thread glinting with each precise flick of her wrist.

"Yes, Your Grace," said the woman kneeling before her—Beatrice, her shoulders stiff, her voice submissive. "She has not left the estate grounds. Not even once."

Lilian hummed softly, almost in approval. "And Lucien?"